Alef: The NEXT Conversation
The First Cut is Always the Deepest
By Emily Kapit
First comes love (one hopes), then comes marriage (one’s parents hope), then comes “your-name-here” in the baby carriage (it’s shocking how soon the pressure for this starts after the wedding; you know, like at the post-wedding brunch). However, the second you announce the impending arrival of a baby, you might as well simultaneously open an umbrella to fend off the deluge of advice, expectations, and opinions.
“You’re gonna get a nanny, right? You can’t expect to raise a baby on your own can you?”
“In my day, you put a sleeping baby on its back, then it was to be on stomach, now it’s back to the back. I don’t get why they ever changed!”
“Here’s the name of my mohel; he’s the BEST. Why, he did my little David and…”
Now, I know that people usually mean well when dispensing tidbits of “helpful” information and I’m all for taking in some suggestions on pregnancy and child-rearing when the time comes, but there is one Jewish tradition (or is it a rite of passage?) that I’ve found myself questioning over the last few years.
It all started with Elisa Albert’s collection of short stories How This Night is Different. The first story, “The Mother is Always Upset,” depicts a new father trying to handle the early morning brit milah going on in his home eight days after the birth of his baby boy. The sleep-deprived character is simultaneously trying to deal with the hoards of people gathered in his house (all of whom have been waiting around for the short service to begin) while also attempting to track down his wife and newborn son. As the story goes on, you come to find out that the mother and other characters question the necessity of a bris and deem it a “barbaric ritual” that has no true “medical reason” and is “painful and invasive.”
Truth be told, I’d never thought about a bris that way; isn’t this just something we, as Jews, do? Apparently, yes. G-d said to Abraham, patriarch of the Jews, “This is my covenant, which you shall keep, between me and you and your offspring after you: Every male among you shall be circumcised. You shall be circumcised in the flesh of your foreskins, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and you (Genesis 17: 9-11).” And if you don’t do this? Well, there’s a punishment ready and waiting just a few verses down: “Any uncircumcised male who is not circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin shall be cut off from his people; he has broken my covenant (Genesis 17:14).”
Yikes.
I should go ahead and make two points clear before continuing: I am a) not pregnant nor expecting to be anytime soon; and b) not necessarily saying that I would never do a bris should I be blessed to have a baby boy years down the road. What I am saying, though, is that I am simply questioning the tradition and its place in our modern world.
The first order of business is to state that though I consider myself Jewish from both a religious and (decidedly moreso) cultural perspective, my biggest beef with the religious side is this persistent feeling of “Well, G-d said we should do this so that’s why it’s done.” While I absolutely, undoubtedly, and unfailingly support other people’s decisions to be religious and follow more of the traditions passed down through countless generations, I personally feel strongly about needing some hard evidence supporting the need for a tradition before agreeing to do the same on my end (especially when knives and blood are involved).
Bar and bat mitzvahs to symbolize the age at which young Jews enter adulthood and are responsible for their actions? Sure, it’s a great rite of passage for kids and I love the idea so long as it does not turn into a competition of whose parents can throw the best shindig. The groom veiling his bride before the wedding to ensure that the woman he intends to marry is really under there? Absolutely—badekens are a sweet throwback to the Biblical story of Jacob planning to marry Rebecca but “accidentally” marrying Leah when their father substituted her at the last moment. Taking a knife to a defenseless baby days after its birth? Just because G-d said so? I think I need some additional convincing on that one. Also, will my child be cast out of the Jewish people if he’s not circumcised? I ate shrimp for lunch two days ago—should I be cast out as well?
Medically speaking, the jury is still out on the necessity for a circumcision. As this early 2010 Washington Post article shows, the practice of circumcision is a hotly debated topic in both medical and religious circles (which I imagine overlaps with some regularity). Some supporters of the minor surgery say that it does, indeed, cut back on the risk of STDs and penile cancer. In 2005, however, the American Academy of Pediatrics reconfirmed its 1999 policy on the matter, which is that they do not believe the evidence supporting circumcision was strong enough to endorse it as a regular surgical routine. Given that I am looking for facts to help me decide my stance on the matter, turning to the medical world does not seem to be overly helpful at this time.
Honestly, and unless the medical community comes up with overwhelming proof of a circumcision’s necessity, the one point that would push me toward honoring the ritual (other than obviously discussing the matter with my husband and coming to a decision with him), is not wanting my child to be “different.” Well, that and not wanting to upset the masses of family members who may attack me with a mohel’s scalpel should I decide against a bris. Either way, perhaps hoping for girls is my best bet for avoiding the topic altogether?
Photo by Arria Belli, licensed under Creative Commons.
UPDATE: Since we first posted this piece in January, the circumcision debate has once again come into the spotlight (or maybe it never left?). Tablet Magazine reports on a San Francisco ballot measure prohibiting circumcision and it has started quite a conversation.
22: Couples
This week we introduce Issue #22: Couples
…
No question about it, dating and marriage are hot button issues for the Jewish people. Between conversations about where the community stands on homosexual couples, to debates about where it stands on interfaith couples, there is an awful lot of chatter. Not to mention that hemming and hawing coming from your mother, insisting that you marry a nice Jewish boy or girl and settle down to give her some grandchildren. Not to also mention the ominous and ever-present JDate angel and devil sitting on your shoulders. To join or not to join? That is the question.
The questions are endless, and where are the role models sent to tell us what to do? Of all the high-profile Jews in Hollywood – Sarah Silverman, Adam Sandler, Natalie Portman, to name a few – none of them have high profile relationships that we can scrutinize and compare to our own. In fact, this year’s highest-profile Jewish relationship belongs to not-so-Jewish Chelsea Clinton (now Mezvinsky).
When the Love and Sex Issues of Alef came out last February, we had no idea what a ruckus they would cause. Now, after eight more months of reflection, we bring you the Couples Issue, jam-packed with tales of Jewish relationships and how they got to be the way they are. Our writers might not be celebrities of Hollywood, but you should feel free to scrutinize the relationships they share with you anyway and as always, we’d love to hear what you have to say.
- Alef
Photo by Lachlan Hardy, licensed under Creative Commons.
Couples Posts:
Type A Dating
What Comes First?
He Said/She Said
Soy Vey
Big Q’s, small r’s
Deconstructing Amy
This Little Light of Mine
Half-and-Half
By Meredith Druss
Sitting on the beach with my parents and sister this weekend, I asked my mother about her experiences being a Taiwanese woman who had converted to Judaism and raised two daughters Jewishly. My mother’s answers mirrored many of the feelings I have: “People are curious and pay me more attention when they see me in a Jewish space,” and “often I’m asked to explain myself but when I say I married a Jewish man and converted, they’re fine with that.” In my personal favorite of her responses she said, “everyone is welcoming, they see my energy and enthusiasm, and are happy to see me so involved.”
Together, riding the high of how open and welcoming Judaism is for us converts and half-Asians, we weren’t prepared for my dad’s question:
“If you were dating an Orthodox boy and he asked that you convert under Orthodoxy before marrying him, would you do it?”
Immediately, my mind reverted to my impertinent ten-year-old self who used to sass mistaken pure-breds who dared to call me a “half-Asian, half-Jewish girl.”
“I’m half-Asian, full-Jewish,” I’d retort, proud to educate on the difference between ethnicity and religion.
But am I really?
Having an Asian mother means it’s doubtful that my maternal line is Jewish through-and-through. While there are some Jewish communities in China (the Kaifeng Jews), Wandy Wang wasn’t from one, and to some, I realize, her Conservative conversion with intent to marry my father doesn’t cut it. So if mom’s not Jewish, then neither are the kids.
Bam.
What do you say when your own father asks if you will admit that you’re not really Jewish in order to marry your hypothetical Orthodox future-husband?
A fighter by nature, I laid it into him.
“It’s an affront to my identity! How dare anyone question my Judaism, do people question if you’re actually from Caucasia?! If this hypothetical fiancé won’t marry me unless I convert, what’s he doing dating non-Jews in the first place?”
My mother also took it personally.
“Judaism is a way of living.”
She argued that if I knew my mother to be Jewish, and lived Jewishly – the following of tradition, the observance of ritual, the commitment to certain beliefs – then I was already Jewish. Judaism isn’t something that someone can take a DNA test to determine. It doesn’t show in bone structure or the face.
“If Meredith continues to do all that, why would she have to convert?”
I affirmed my mother, “Should I be asking proof from my potential Jewish suitors that their maternal ancestors are Jewish or Orthodox-converted all the way up to the matriarch Sarah?”
I didn’t really answer the question. Defensively, I said “no” to my father only to stop the conversation. Sure, if it made things easier, why wouldn’t I convert to Orthodoxy? But then, would converting mean that I’d be acknowledging that I am not a Jew now. Who’s the one that needs to compromise here?
The greater question in all of this is that of religion vs. ethnicity. Is Judaism my ethnicity, a way of life and a group of people I happen to have traditions and beliefs in common with; or is it my religion, the way I service and worship G-d? In modern day terminology, we throw around the phrase “cultural Jew” to identify those of us that are members of the Tribe but don’t follow strict religious observance. Then, of course, there are religious Jews. Somewhere along the line, you can’t be a cultural Jew if your mother/grandmother/great-grandmother, etc. was not recognized as a religious Jew in her conversion….If I’m somewhere in the middle (a cultural Jew who believes and worships G-d and follows moderate observance levels), what’s my new categorization now? Half-Asian-Half-Ethnic-Jew-Three-Quarters-Religious Jew (…but only if you approve of Conservative conversions)?
Let me tell you, I can’t wait for the day when I can say, “I’m Jewish and I’m Asian” and no one will blink an eye.
Photo by Beige Alert, licensed under Creative Commons.
Read more posts from issue #16: Diverse Jews
Middle School Fantasies
By Amir Levi
During 7th grade, everyone was having their bar and bat-mitzvahs. I remember before each party, as I would be putting on the same suit I wore to every one, I would ask myself, ‘Will this be the party where he notices me and asks me to dance?’. A complete wallflower and social outcast in middle school, I would sit on the side watching the slow dances of the 1994-1995 season (guys putting their hands on the girls hips, with the girls putting their hands on the guys shoulders, and both parties stepping side to side in the same rhythm, no matter what the song was). I thought those dances were the first step to meeting Mr. Right and that if I wasn’t asked to dance, I would remain single for the rest of my life. Fifteen years later, I’m still waiting to be asked to dance.
I used to imagine myself as the awkward girl in romantic movies, you know, the girl with the glasses that the popular guy doesn’t notice at first, but once her glasses come off and her hair gets let down, he realizes that she’s more beautiful than anyone else he could’ve ever hoped for…and more interesting as well. I had braces, big hair, and my older brother’s hand-me-downs. I couldn’t wait for guys to dig below the surface to find that I was just what they were looking for.
I needed these fantasies. I went to a Jewish school in Atlanta where if you weren’t an athlete or a bully, you immediately became the target, not only by the students, but by some of the faculty as well. As my aspirations involved singing, dancing and a desire to hang out with Madonna and Paula Abdul (as opposed to Nirvana and Green Day), it became evident that there would be no support system in my everyday life, so I had to seek solace elsewhere. My friendships came from my acting classes, my boyfriends came from… well, the pictures ripped out of Dynamite magazines and taped to my doors. I had wonderful boyfriends: Luke Perry, Jason Priestley, and Mark Paul Gosselaar. I would kiss each of them goodnight almost every day, and I would fantasize that any one of them would come to the bar and bat mitzvahs to rescue me as I was getting beaten up while being called “faggot.”
I also fantasized about my future. While watching Fiddler on the Roof, I’d think about which groom I’d end up with, and I’d measure the pros and cons of each. Motel was cute, but a wimp; Perchik was passionate, but poor; and Fyedka… well, he wasn’t Jewish, so I wasn’t interested. In the end I’d always choose Perchik. Perchik would stand up for me and for rights of everyone around me. I needed someone who would fight the good fight and who I could believe in. I also wanted someone who would marry me under a chupa and stomp on the glass while everyone yelled “mazel tov.” I was going to be a Jewish bride and no amount of bullying from my peers was going to stop me.
After I graduated eighth grade, I went to an International School, as opposed to Yeshiva, and I was freed. I made instant friends (some of whom I’m still close to today) and I stopped looking over my shoulder for threats of violence. I participated in debates between the girls and boys of my class about whether gays were equal (boys usually voted no, girls voted yes), and I broke up with the men of my bedroom in favor of fantasies about the boys in my class.
I never doubted my Judaism. In fact, I connected with the fact that in spite of the adversity the Jewish people faced (and continue to face), we still survive and continue to thrive as a people. I needed to survive the torments of my youth because I knew that eventually life had to get better. I needed to be strong for myself, and for Perchik. After all, someday he would ask me to dance, right?
amirlevimm@gmail.com
Photo by zilupe, licensed under Creative Commons.
Changing Tradition
By Alexander Marcus
Rabbi Meir used to say: Do not look at the flask but at what is in it; there may be a new flask that is full of old wine and an old flask that does not even have new wine in it.
- Pirkei Avot 4.27
I carefully made my way down the slippery stone steps, heading toward the wooden house that had been temporarily converted into a classroom in the hillside Gurung village of Tangting, Nepal. It was early November 2007. The sky was engulfed by the snow-capped mountains of the Himalayas. I was about to participate in the academic culmination of four months of intense study and total linguistic and cultural immersion. I had already completed the written portion of my Nepali language exams, conducted research with Hindu holy men, Tibetan refugees, and farmers here in Tangting. Now was my final test. I was to sit one-on-one with Shova, the head Nepali language instructor, and have a 30 minute free-form conversation entirely in Nepali. Any vocabulary and any topic was fair game.
Shova is an intelligent, extremely well-educated Nepali woman. She was raised in the heart of the tourist section of Kathmandu and later served in countries all over the world in the Peace Corps. She is one of those people who seems to radiate wisdom: if you are lucky enough to ever hear her advice, you instinctively sense you should absorb her every word. She is strict but fair. I walked into the room where she was waiting, knowing that the next half hour would be difficult. After we dispensed with the customary Nepali pleasantries – “Have you eaten rice yet today?” “Yes, and you?” – I was caught completely off-guard by her opening question.
“What is your opinion about homosexuals?” she asked me nonchalantly, using the English word “homosexual.”
Taken aback I replied, “What do you mean? What is my opinion of homosexuals?” Stalling for time, I repeated her question in the first person, the smallest bit of panic in my tone.
“You know,” she said, “Gay people. What do you think about them? Do you think that that’s alright?”
“Of course I think it’s alright,” I finally croaked. “It’s not a choice and everybody deserves to be happy. Don’t you think so?” I have always seen myself as an ally for the LGBTQ community, and I consider it my duty, as both a Jew and a human being, to treat everyone with dignity. And some of my best friends are gay. I wondered what they would think if they could hear our conversation.
Shova was quiet for a moment. I think it dawned on her that this might not have been the greatest subject to discuss while testing my language ability. She must have seen the shock on my face, and realized that she should explain herself.
“Yes, alright,” she said, “Maybe in America it’s alright to be gay, but not here in Nepal. In America, a woman does not need a man to survive, but in Nepal a woman needs a man. If a man is gay, and decides to be with another man, then there is a woman with nobody to take care of her.”
I do not remember precisely what happened after that exchange. We quickly changed the subject, and most likely delved into a more detailed discussion of the contents of my breakfast. But I could not get that conversation out of my mind. How could someone for whom I have so much respect think such a thing?
It took me a very long time to allow myself to consider that in certain ways Shova was right.
During my first experience in Nepal, and two years later when I returned, I witnessed the troubles that Nepali women endure. In Nepal it is very difficult for a woman to own property, and an unmarried woman often has very few rights. Too many married women suffer silently at the hands of drunken, abusive husbands. In this context, it is of the utmost importance to stress the duty of a husband toward his wife, and of men toward women. Marriage is not a choice, and it is rarely a matter of love. For women it is an essential ingredient for happiness; for men it might be nothing more than the fulfillment of an obligation.
I am now living in Colorado, working with a non-profit that advocates for the inclusion of LGBTQ people in the Jewish community. It should come as no surprise to those who are familiar with the evolution of Jewish thought on these issues that the rights of LGBTQ people have often been intertwined with the rights of women. It should also be no surprise to anybody in the United States that we have only really tackled LGBTQ issues after proving the viability of “alternative” family units and created space for women to enter worlds that were once the exclusive realm of men. We have certain luxuries of thought that Nepal does not yet have.
But as American Jews we have unique difficulties of our own. We must walk the line between being true to our traditions and allowing those traditions to speak to our present age. I would guess that many traditional Jews see variations of their own concerns in Shova’s words. The breakup of traditional families can have very negative consequences for everyone involved. To expand the idea of marriage and family to include LGBTQ people can be a scary idea. But we can also learn from Shova’s position. She is concerned, just like we are, for the well-being of the most vulnerable members of her community.
While Shova recognized the limits of her time and place, she did not consider homosexuals sinners or evil people, nor did she dismiss how difficult her prescription must be for many. Likewise, we must extend our own obligations to our brethren to the fullest degree possible in our time and place. LGBT individuals have been proving for decades that they are capable of maintaining viable, healthy families, and raising children in nurturing households. As Jews in the United States, with the framework and resources that we have, I believe it is our obligation to prove to them that we are capable in turn of welcoming them into our communities as completely as possible.
Epilogue: On November 18th, 2008 the Supreme Court of Nepal directed the government to enact laws enabling equal rights to LGBT citizens. Sunil Babu Pant is the first openly gay member of the constituent assembly, Nepal’s interim governing body. The new constitution, which is currently being drafted, will contain a clause establishing same-sex marriage and protection for “sexual minorities.”
Photo by -Marlith-, licensed under Creative Commons.
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